


Led By Your Beating Heart

by claimedbydaryl



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, a weird affinity for storms, and a lot of kissing in the rain, its like The Notebook but without the millions of swans/geese/whatever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 00:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4856783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claimedbydaryl/pseuds/claimedbydaryl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under the steady downpour of rain, Bucky remembers what Steve meant to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Led By Your Beating Heart

**Author's Note:**

> \+ Dedicated to my very own Scotty L.  
> \+ Title based on the song "Laura Palmer" by Bastille.  
> \+ Unbeta'd.  
> \+ I just really like kissing in the rain, okay?

_Walking out into the dark_  
_Cutting out a different path_  
_Led by your beating heart_

***

“Steve?” Bucky prompted.

“Hmm?” The golden-haired man turned to look back at him. Bucky was a few paces behind him, standing stationary on the sidewalk with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. He was looking up at the rapidly darkening sky.

“It’s going to rain.”

Steve breathed deeply, noting the heady, saturated quality of the surrounding air. He glanced at Bucky—his lips perpetually pressed together tightly, his face masking the tumultuous emotions beneath—before following his line of sight, glancing upwards.

It wasn’t difficult to predict the impending rainstorm. The seasons had lazily shifted from summer to autumn, the sun-hot sidewalk cooling in the afternoon heat rather than simmering. Overhead, the dense canopy of tree limbs had lost their green sheen, the veins of leaves darkening to varying shades of red, orange and gold. The sky was no longer overcast, and the thick swath of clouds above was practically black with a brewing storm.

“Yeah,” Steve said quietly, “looks like it is.” He nodded, turning back onto his path, thinking Bucky would soon follow after him.

“I miss the rain.”

Bucky’s offhand comment caused Steve to stop mid-step, his chin lifting up, brow furrowed. Because it wasn’t uncommon for Bucky to fluctuate between stilted silences and incoherent, rambling sentences. He didn’t share any non-essential piece of information with Steve since it wasn’t a necessary thing to do—and so Steve hadn’t learnt to push.

Steve didn’t know whether to wait for Bucky to continue or ask him more.

“It always made me feel like I was connected, like I was a part of this world. Even when I couldn’t remember my own name, I could still remember the feel of rain on my skin.” Bucky said softly. “It made me safe. It made me feel happy.” Bucky glanced at his gloved left hand, the metal hidden beneath the cuff of a grey hoodie and jacket.

“Does it hurt?” Steve heard himself asking aloud.

The absence of noise throughout the street—besides a muted roar of traffic—made Steve lick his lips anxiously, awaiting Bucky’s response. The street was near empty, deserted even, and all the birds had all gone quiet in suspense for the imminent rainfall.

“A little.” His voice was quiet, but still harsh.

“Bucky—” Steve took a step forward, halting in his actions as a raindrop landed directly on his nose. Steve rubbed at it, his vision adjusting to the closeness of his hand, watching as the falling beads of water collected on his skin.

He looked over at Bucky, who was staring at him like he just couldn’t quite work him out.

Steve opened his mouth to speak, but a pressure soon built in his head and his whole body jolted in a loud sneeze. He wiped at his nose again, but a small noise caught his attention elsewhere, and he looked to where—

Bucky was laughing.

He had his hand pressed to his mouth, eyes crinkled at the corners and mouth opened to reveal white teeth—Steve was almost struck by the partial sight of his smile.

A chord in his chest strained, tautening—and it hurt, it hurt so much to see his best friend standing there. Bucky looked at Steve with a new, almost foreign liveliness brimming in his eyes, the soft, delighted sound of his laughter filtering through the air.

Steve couldn’t help it—he smiled back, broad and bright, the warmth burst of happiness in his chest soon expanding outwards. His lips formed a quiet laugh, the noise startling them both.

Bucky’s mirth subsided, but he was still smiling faintly. His chest heaved with every breath, spent of air. His smiled once more looking at Steve before he tipped his head to the sky, arms held outwards in sacrifice.

The rain had started to fall heavier now, and in faster succession, the water droplets leaving wet imprints on skin and hair and clothes in their wake. Steve watched as Bucky closed his eyes to the rain, allowing it to fall in gentle shower to completely wet his face—droplets rolling over his cheeks, lips and forehead.

His hood slipped backwards over the crown of his skull, revealing his pallid face, the top of his lean shoulders subject to the steady fall of water. His hair—which had been left knotted and unbound, hanging to his shoulders in length—was darkening in colour with every passing second, until it was a molasses-rich brown.

Steve was transfixed by the beautiful sight unfolding before him.

Bucky laughed again, teeth flashing white against the dark grey background. He dropped his chin, arms falling to his sides once again, jubilantly happy in the steady downfall.

“Bucky,” the word slipped unbidden from Steve’s lips. A plea. A prayer.

His smile faltered at the wrecked tone of Steve’s voice. Bucky’s lips formed a silent question—asking what Steve wanted, what he needed, and what he could give.

Steve couldn’t answer—it felt like the ground had been ripped out from under him, shifting precariously on its axis. He knew their relationship had been rendered different following Bucky’s return from the insidious identity of the Winter Soldier. Every action was fraught with tension, every look laden with repressed emotion, every conversation characterised by unsaid confessions and promises. But now it had reached the tipping point, their entire future happiness—and more—resting on the next few seconds—and what they decided to do in that time.

In a mirror image of each other, Steve took a tentative step forward almost the same time Bucky did. His hand seemed to move on its own accord, fluidly cutting through the shower of rain to reach for Steve instinctively.

Bucky stared at Steve’s rain-dark eyelashes, at the water droplets hanging off the ends. The light dregs of his golden hair were like liquid honey under the dark sky, and Bucky’s hands tingled with the need to feel the wet strands beneath his fingers. To memorise the smooth span of gold skin, and the curves and angles of his bones. His clothes were growing more and more increasingly wet, plastering to his skin to reveal his broad frame.

He was a masterpiece—Steve was a masterpiece.

Bucky wanted to feel the whole of Steve’s steady weight, the slickness of his smooth skin, the gentle press of his lips. He wanted to follow that thread of comfort he promised, that feeling of safety he emanated with—he had never wanted anything more.

Steve felt cold, slippery flesh beneath his fingers, and he looked down to see Bucky’s hand in his own. There was even less space to occupy between them now. Less room to sow seeds of doubt, of fear. He carefully gripped Bucky’s hands, treating it as a fragile glass, paying reverential attention to the flesh and bone and cartilage he was allowed to touch, to feel.

“Give me your other hand,” Steve whispered roughly, unable to comprehend how Bucky existed—how they’d spent so long trying to find each other again, and how he’d finally come home. “Please, Buck.” He said once he saw the fear shining in the brunet’s eyes.

Bucky raised his other hand reluctantly, the mechanics of the metal plates of his arm whirring and clicking as he moved. Steve raised Bucky’s frozen finger to his lips, kissing his knuckles once before lowering it. Bucky’s jaw clenched at the action, his whole body held stiffly, awkwardly. His eyes flashed—terrified, anxious, and fearful—under the sudden fissure of bright lightning in the near-black clouds above.

“Buck,” Steve panted, his chest heaving desperately.

The rain was falling harder now, close to pelting.

“Please.”

Sighing deeply, losing himself to the rhythm of falling rain, Bucky allowed a wave of calmness to wash over him. Without averting his gaze from Steve’s, Bucky dropped his hands to cup the side of Steve’s face at the first boom of thunder. He leaned forward—cold and wet, but practically burning with want—the same time Steve dipped his head. Their lips met as the sound exploded across the sky, deep and eternal, reverberating through the very marrow of Steve and Bucky’s bones.

Bucky was tentative at first, holding himself together tightly, like a wound coil. His hands were frozen in their place on Steve’s jaw, the other man’s body heat beneath his palms almost scalding. Steve pulled back at the first sign of his hesitance, his soldier’s intuition allowing him to read Bucky’s uncomfortable posture.

“I want too, Steve,” Bucky said in shaky assurance. He shook his head from side-to-side, bedraggled strands of dark hair shaking water loose, his expression pained. “I want too, okay, there’s nothing I want more.”

“It’s okay, Bucky.” Steve whispered against his lips, pressing their foreheads together.

“Just—” He grappled for the right words, the right anything.

“How about you kiss me and we work out the rest later?”

Bucky’s smile was fleeting and heartbreaking.

He leaned forward, stopping once to flick his gaze up to Steve’s—there was nothing but trust and warm encouragement reflected in his cornflower blue eyes. Steve smiled, his touch skating over Bucky’s arm and collarbone to his neck, a thumb running over the exposed skin of his neck, brushing his jawbone. Bucky allowed the touch to centre him—an anchor in the storm—before abandoning all pretences of fear and leaning forward, catching the errant water droplet hanging off Steve’s upper lip.

Steve’s smile remained—and that was enough to assuage Bucky’s doubts.

He knew Steve was waiting for him to set the pace of their kiss, to deepen or slow, to hasten their movements or retreat entirely. But, first, Steve allowed Bucky to kiss him languidly, unwilling to rush the touch he’d been so starved of. Steve’s nose nudged Bucky’s playfully, their mouths melding together hotly despite the unpleasant chill of their sodden clothes.

A raucous thunderclap of sound shattered the stormy sky above, the air thick with the crackle of volatile electricity, the abrupt flash of lighting illuminating the two men intertwined on the sidewalk.

Their hands clutched desperately at the lapels of their coats, the fabric sliding wetly between the fabric, grasping for any sort or purchase. Bucky kissed Steve deeply, the taste of rain on his lips—fresh and clean and earthy. Steve didn’t know how much of home he found in that shared contact, how much he needed to know Bucky was something tangible and solid beneath his touch.

Both of them were nearly completely drenched now, lost in the rhythm of the falling rain. It was a natural phenomenon, separating them from everyone else in the world. The curtains of the house three doors weren’t fluttering open, a car hadn’t pulled up to the curb across the road, and there was no dog barking in the distance.

It was just Steve and Bucky—that’s all there was.

Steve pulled back once more as the thunder trickled to a low rumble, his pulse thrumming loudly in his ears. His hand slid down to rest on Bucky’s chest, pushing his jacket aside and settling firmly over the layers of fabric to feel his heartbeat.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked hoarsely, fingers curling over the back of Steve’s neck in a firm grip, pulling at the short roots of his hair. He heaved him in roughly for another kiss, needing to drown in the taste of Steve, pausing as the blond’s fingers tightened in their hold on Bucky’s hoodie.

“What is it?” he repeated, a concerned undercurrent to his words.

“I just need to know you’re here,” Steve admitted, swallowing weakly, “I just need to know that you’re with me.” His free arm wrapped around Bucky’s lean waist, hauling him closer so their heads knocked together, unrelenting in holding his grip on the brunet. Bucky revelled in the clean, strong lines of Steve’s body pressed to him, and felt the stuttered rush of air pass his lips in a gasp.

“I’m not going anywhere, not without you.” It was an echo of a promise of two men separated by a river of fire, staring helplessly at each other even as the world threatened to fall apart.

It was dark now, edging closer to night than day, and the rain showed no sign of letting up. As Bucky nuzzled affectionately at Steve’s jaw, his lips pressing fervent kisses across his golden stubble, Steve cast a cursory glance around the street. His grin was fleeting against the gush of rain before Steve was gripping tightly at Bucky’s collar, forcing him to walk backwards.

They stumbled blindly into the nearby alley, and then Bucky’s entire being was slotted between the hard expanse of brick wall and Steve’s warm, malleable body. Steve wasted no time in surging forward to claim Bucky’s lips, eliciting a breathy moan from Bucky. His mouth opened under Steve’s attentive kisses, their tongues sliding together perfectly.

Surprisingly, Steve slowed his actions, between intermittently brushing the wet strands of hair from his face. His fingers dipped the trace the column outline of Bucky’s neck, and the hollow of his throat. Steve angled his head for a better angle then, lazy and carefree but by no means chaste. Bucky grasped at the fabric that stretched over his broad shoulders, pushing forward—the friction momentarily blinding him.

Steve’s leg slipped between Bucky’s, and his hand wrapped around Bucky’s thigh to pull it higher and curl around his hips, drawing him closer. The bones of his pelvis ground into Bucky’s, a steady source of comforting weight—the emotion of desire behind it raw and simple in nature.

And, just like that, the intention behind Bucky’s kisses and touches changed. He didn’t wait for Steve’s hesitant and trusting response—he demanded something visceral in response. A sudden, animal growl ripped through his chest, asking for more. He wanted fire and heat and passion—there was nothing he wanted more than the absolute soul of Steve innermost feelings.

His hands alternated from Steve’s back to his chest, and Bucky violently pushed off the wall, forcing Steve backwards until he was the one hitting the opposite wall. A rush of air escaped him on impact, and Steve’s expression was shuttered, his lips an inviting shade of red against his pale skin—the cold having lowered his core temperature.

Bucky surged forward, thrusting entire body weight against Steve, needing to feel and memorise the flesh and sinew and bone underneath his shaking fingers. A moan echoed deep in his chest, a sonorous sound amidst the steady fall of water on the roof, cement, and gravel. The taste of rain was still there—hidden under the honey sweetness of Steve’s mouth—but Bucky may have just been imagining it, chasing the illusion of their first kiss, there under the rain.

It was a furious clash of teeth and tongue, deprived and visceral. Pain and fear and confusion were all eclipsed by the overwhelming emotions of lust and trust and need.

Bucky pressed closer, hard lines of bone and muscle enveloping him, one hand clutched tightly in Steve’s hair. A noise caught in the back of his throat, helpless and animalistic. He was anchored by Steve’s arms around him, large and strong. It wasn’t a cage—it was safety.

“Please, Bucky,” he whimpered against the other man’s lips.

Bucky growled in response, teeth grazing softly over Steve’s lips.

“Don’t leave me, make me remember this.” Steve pleaded. “Don’t let me forget you.”

It sounded like something Bucky would say, but the sincerity was clear in Steve’s voice. He knew he had been floundering in the real world upon waking up, that he’d been adrift before he’d met a masked man on a nameless bridge. But Bucky hadn’t known that maybe Steve needed to be reminded of what was real and what wasn’t too. He needed that security and safety just as much as he did.

“I saw—” He panted roughly, a tongue darting over his swollen lips. Bucky gripped Steve’s hair harder as he shifted, wet denim dragging against softer fabric, his nerves set alight. “I saw a motel a few”—a swift kiss silenced him for a moment, Steve lingering in his touch—“blocks back.” He leaned forward for another kiss, another reassurance. “We could get a room there.”

Steve nodded jerkily; his hands frantically running over the span of Bucky’s back and downwards, mapping the very breadth and shape of him.

“C’mon. Let’s go.” Bucky pulled away, practically vibrating with the uncontrollable need to get Steve alone in a room, to push him down on a bed and start moving and never stop.

He stopped once the cold, slippery fingers curled around his. Bucky looked back to Steve, his brow furrowed and breathing ragged. Steve smiled tenuously at him, staring at Bucky framed against the backdrop of rain—his hair long and wet, pupils dilated, shaking not because of the cold.

Another frightening crack of lighting, followed by a low rumble of thunder.

It was almost poetic, a surge of inspiration causing Steve’s fingers to tighten in their hold—he wished he had a sketchbook and some charcoal, or even a scrap of paper and broken piece of lead. Anything. Everything. Something to capture this moment.

Bucky’s smile was strained, but undeniable warmth was swirling in his eyes.

He stepped out of the alleyway, connected to Steve by his large interlaced hand. The rain buffeted the pair of them from atop, no longer gentle or kind. They didn’t care. Bucky started running. Steve wasn’t far behind, their footsteps landing wet and heavy against the pavement.

At the end of the street Bucky jolted to a stop as a car swerved dangerously around the corner. He barely registered the impact of Steve into his back, throwing him a carefree grin over his shoulder before continuing on their way, comforted by the noise of Steve following him—wet clothes straining with every stride, the booted soles of his feet almost an echo of Bucky’s.

Bucky spotted the low-slung building, reading the neon lights of a 24-7 motel. It was a miracle he’d even looked before crossing the street. He halted at the door to the reception, meeting Steve’s eyes to affirm their mutual agreement that this is what they were going to do before pushing the door open.

They paid for a room for the night— _one bed_ , Bucky had said in a low voice, nearly quivering as he leaned his kept arm into Steve’s front.

Once they had been handed the keys and found their room Bucky had pushed Steve back against the door, crowding him in. Steve’s small, startled gasp was swallowed by the sound of rain hitting the metal roof above, echoing in a soothingly consistent rhythm. Bucky’s knee wedged between his legs, the pressure hard and insistent and _good_. He kissed Steve desperately, purposefully.

Something had snapped in Bucky’s chest in the rain, and the thread of gentle care was overrun by a despairing need. He was still in control of his actions and his emotions, but he and Steve both needed it so much—to follow their most primal, base instinct.

The door swung open, closing with an abrupt bang.

In the dim light of the motel room, Steve and Bucky stopped for a moment longer—breathing erratic, hands shaking, mouths burning—before reaching for each other’s clothes.

They were drenched to the skin, but Steve was able to undress Bucky in quick succession—his jacket, hoodie, baggy shirt underneath, and made quick work of his pants. Bucky wrenched the jacket over Steve’s shoulders and down his arms, lurching forward to catch his lips in an uncoordinated kiss once the offending item of clothing hit the floor with a wet thud. Steve unbuckled his own belt and kicked his pants off, stripped to his briefs. Bucky’s fingers strayed to the hem of Steve’s close-fitting shirt, and Bucky peeled it off the blond like it was a second skin, revealing the cold-prickled flesh beneath.

Their bodies slid together wetly, and Steve barely repressed a shudder. Bucky groaned against his cheek, his hands curling around Steve’s hips, feeling the press of the other man’s fingers into the muscled flesh of his shoulders. It _burned_ to touch, their combined heat serving as a buffer to the teeth-chattering cold.

Before they leaned forward, Steve’s hand gently brushed the hair from Bucky’s face.

His smile may have wobbled on delivery, but thankfully Steve kissed him before he had to see the crack in Bucky’s resolve. It was slower now, their initial fire tempered to the steady flickering of coals. The sweet musk of rain—Bucky could still taste it, he realised. Or maybe Steve was the rain—a symbol of rebirth, of cool, healing hands pressed to festering wounds, of the whisper of light in the dark. And maybe it was designed to be matched to his violent fire, to balance the rage and heat with peace and cold.

Bucky pushed Steve back gently, until his legs hit the bed, and then urged him down with an unspoken command. Steve moved further up the mattress on his elbows, watching with half-lidded eyes as Bucky followed him quickly, a small noise catching in his throat as damp skin made contact.

Their lips meet, languid and wet. Searching.

Bucky’s knees found stable purchase, his weight resting solidly on Steve’s centre before rolling his hips experimentally. Once, twice. His moan was stuttered, quickly deepening into a shocked gasp as Steve’s hand slipped down to grab his ass and urged his hips to repeat the same motion. He did—eliciting a high, pained whine from Steve. Bucky continued to move, pressing harder, panting desperately against Steve’s mouth between intermittent kisses. His head filled with an obscure fog of static, his heartbeat a loud thud in his chest.

The pressure built, the bursting sparks of arousal simmering low in their abdomens—as fingers roamed over the lean length of a back, legs locking together firmly, kisses open and messy. Steve never wanted to forgo the comfort and safety of Bucky’s weight, never wanted to know what it was like to survive without that. It was no longer a craving; it was a deep, base need. It was profound and unreachable—yet so close, so near.

Overwhelmed with the sheer intensity of sensation, Bucky knew his self-control was fraying. He could feel the thread of restraint slipping from his grasp as Steve—beautiful, blond, good-hearted Steve—remained pliant and willing beneath, writhing against him.

Bucky can barely remember the middle part, but one minute he was lazily rutting against Steve and the next they were naked, on the precipice of something deep and fathomless. Bucky was braced over Steve—it was clear what was going to happen, what final barrier remained.

And Steve was nodding, his face and Bucky’s separated by a hair’s breadth.

Bucky squeezed his eyes shut for a second before repositioning himself, his arms held tensely on either side of Steve’s head, reading the apprehension in the blond’s gaze. He could see Steve willing himself to relax, legs held loosely around Bucky’s waist, fingers a soft five-pointed pressure on each of Bucky’s shoulder blades. He tried to convey how much he wanted this—just how much he trusted and desired Bucky—and then—

A shift of movement, a redistribution of weight.

A single kiss pressed to a closed mouth.

An unbidden whine slipped past Steve’s lips as Bucky pushed forward in one uniform flex of his body. Pleasure blurred into pain, the fused contact overwhelming. Bucky stilled completely, his breathing harsh in the quiet of the room; the soundtrack to their romantic endeavours a muted chime of rain on the roof. He willed the fog of his head to clear, the ache in his braced arms to ease, the urge to snap his hips forward to soothe.

Looking up, Steve was able to read the way Bucky held himself rigid, not allowing himself to move. Slowly, Steve nudged his face against Bucky’s—they were so close they shared the same breath, so close he could see the creases at the corners of his eyes. He smiled tremulously as Bucky’s eyes slid open, revealing the exact shade of blue of his eyes.

“Hey,” he said softly, “it’s okay.”

Bucky’s reply was a whisper of noise—pain, caught in his chest.

Steve raised his lips to Bucky’s unresponsive ones, his lower body rolling and pushing. The hint of rain on Steve’s tongue eased the knotting tension in Bucky’s stomach, comforting him, and then Bucky’s choked-off gasp broke the silence. His hips moved forward abruptly on instinct. He was about to sputter an apology when Steve whispered something against Bucky’s cheek, legs tightening around his waist, arching upwards.

His mouth opened wetly under Bucky’s attention, a subtle clink of teeth as Bucky allowed his defences to drop, to crumble. Groaning loudly amidst the darkness, the motions of Bucky hips were forgoing an irregular jerk to find a steady pace. His teeth clamped onto his bottom lip in restraint—enamel shining white in the darkness.

One of Steve’s hands curled over the back of Bucky’s neck, holding his head close. He noticed how the hair was damp beneath his fingertips, glimmering slickly as lighting illuminated the room from outside.

Steve waited for the rolling hum of thunder, whimpering brokenly as Bucky entire body flexed at the first sound of it, pushing deeper. Steve tilted his hips at the action, the new angle causing Bucky to cry softly, his fingers straining at their frantic hold on the bed sheets.

Steve started to forget when to stop and when to respond, no longer calculating his actions, allowing himself to act on feeling rather than thought. Bucky must have been overcome with the same heat and sensation, because he was soon moving with deep, measured thrusts. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut, moans filling the heady air, quiet against the drum of rain.

He was lulled into a steady build of pressure as Bucky panted heavy and hot in Steve’s ear, pelvises rocking together in tandem. And then he was wrenching Steve’s hand from his own neck and pinning it to the bed, interlacing their fingers. Bucky did the same with the other hand, no longer supported by his own strength, pressed flush to Steve at every possible point of contact.

Bucky moved with a restless abandon then, staring down at Steve with a wide, heated gaze. His mouth hung open as a near-growl was ripped from his throat. Biting his lip at the sight, Steve arched off the bed to kiss Bucky, unable to articulate how he felt, how close he was edging to the precipice, and then—

At the exact same moment the sky was bright with lighting, and loud with the boom of thunder, Bucky thrust deep and hard into Steve, and then—he was clenching for a few seconds, quivering after. A soft cry was punched from his chest, head tilted backwards and face contorted into a blissfully wounded expression.

Transfixed by Steve’s reaction, it wasn’t long before Bucky was gripping the other man’s hands so tightly their knuckles were bone-white, hips stuttering. Almost-whines fell from lips. Deep, satisfied groans followed, his body spent and mind clear.

Afterwards, Bucky’s relaxed weight resting over him, Steve laughed quietly into the brunet’s hair.

Bucky mumbled something offending against the dip of his neck.

“You okay, Buck?” Steve whispered affectionately.

He shifted onto his side, raising his head to look down at Steve, his gaze warm and intimate. He still held one of Steve’s hands, bringing it down to rest on his chest. “Do you remember when I was fired from my job at the drugstore?” He asked suddenly.

Steve raised a curious eyebrow, but didn’t dismiss Bucky. Even if it was more than seventy years ago, his memory was startlingly clear in some places. “Was this the one you stole from?”

“You were _sick._ You needed medicine _._ ”

Steve’s grin took him by surprise, pulling his lips wide. He was awash with soft glow of contentment—and the feeling was reflected in Bucky’s quick smile. “You were convinced I had pneumonia or a life-threatening chest infection. It was a cold at best, punk.”

“Whatever you say, jerk.” The familiar insult rolled off Bucky’s tongue, and for once he wasn’t angry that he couldn’t remember using it before in a different life. He slipped his leg between Steve’s—revelling in how the other man shivered slightly at the contact—before continuing, “You weren’t the one spending more than half the night awake because you coughed so hard the bedframe shook.”

Steve was silent for a beat. “You got up and made me tea, didn’t you?”

Bucky nodded, the memory blurred and frayed—but he could recall the feel of the warmed mug in his hands, his palm pressed to a sickly Steve’s forehead. “And then I climbed into bed with you.” He teased, nosing along the line of the blond’s jaw and biting softly at the sensitive flesh beneath his ear.

Steve laughed heartily at the ceiling, turning to see a self-satisfied Bucky hovering over him once his initial mirth had subsided. “You didn’t need much convincing to do that, Buck.”

“Still don’t.” His smile dimmed for a moment, the joyful noise within the room quieting before Bucky spoke, “Anyway, I was asking about my job at the drugstore, because I remember having that whole weekend free.” His teeth sunk into his lower lip—delighting in how Steve’s gaze dropped to his mouth hungrily. “And it rained the entire time.”

Steve was overcome with a residual happiness from the memory. He had felt so normal in those few short days with Bucky. They slept together every night without fear of being discovered. Bucky had wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist as he made a pot of coffee or burned the powdered eggs. They made love on the couch in the dim light of day—Steve writhing in Bucky’s lap—and then again in bed—on their side, moving together slowly—and Bucky even dared to hold Steve up against the window later.

“I remember that weekend.” Steve said softly, with an odd sense of nostalgia—those memories he cherished the most because it was one of the few they were genuinely happy. “We didn’t leave the apartment, no one bothered us. All it did was rain and rain and rain.” He looked to Bucky sharply, his hand tightening in their hold on his chest—a question circulated through his head.

Bucky’s smile was slow, intimate—he already knew the answer. “That’s why I was always drawn to the rain. That’s why I could never forget it. Because it reminded me of you.”

***

 _But this is your heart_  
_Can you feel it? Can you feel it?_  
_Pumps through your veins_  
_Can you feel it? Can you feel it?_

**Author's Note:**

> For more rainy make-outs between two super soldiers, come hang with me on [tumblr](http://diggitydamnsebastianstan.tumblr.com/)


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